


I Need You

by TimeToRemember



Category: The Paradise
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeToRemember/pseuds/TimeToRemember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dudley has always had Moray's back. It was a fact of life. When they met, and he was staring into a pair of the softest dark eyes he'd ever seen, he'd known, immediately, that he would follow this man to Hell and back.</p>
<p>But such unshakeable loyalty is not easy to hide. Someone just has to look at them both and understand. And someone did. </p>
<p>Dudley has always had Moray's back. But what happens when the cost is too high?</p>
<p>(Or, the time when Dudley goes above and beyond the call of duty to protect Moray, and Moray doesn't like it because when he thinks of Dudley getting hurt, it scares him more than it should.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need You

**Author's Note:**

> At present, this is a one-shot, because I have absolutely nothing else on this in my lovely little folder of _The Paradise_ porn *ahem* fanfic. But, that is not to say that the lightning rod of inspiration will not strike again in the future, so feel free to watch this space and give me a prod if I'm leaving it too long. (See what I did there?)
> 
> As per usual, I own nothing, more's the pity, and any mistakes are mine: this has not been beta'd. You have been warned. 
> 
> Lastly, I apologise for any inconsistencies between my portrayal of the world of _The Paradise ___and the BBC's portrayal: I did my best, but I'm no expert.

“Stop the carriage!” 

The urgency in Mr. Moray’s tone was as clear as it was surprising, and the coach driver immediately hauled on the reins, bringing the pair of horses to a stop. They stood obediently, heads down, stamping hooves to dispel the cold. It was an unpleasant evening, likely to rain shortly, and the driver could think of many other places where he’d rather be on a night like this. But as he clambered down from his seat to open the door for his Master, he was smiling in that genial way common to servants everywhere.  
Moray brushed past him without a word, and the driver was left standing by the open door of the carriage with a look of confusion pasted on his face. But as he watched Moray hurry across the street to a pile of clothes that could possibly be in the shape of a person, confusion turned rapidly to concern, and, slamming the door shut with little care, he followed Moray over. 

“Sir, I really don’t think – “ he tried, putting out a hand in some vague attempt to prevent the terrible incident unfolding in his mind’s eye.  
Moray didn’t even look at him, busy as he was shrugging out of his coat. The driver’s eyes widened at this and he made a second attempt to intervene that was instantly negated when the bundle of rags coughed.  
Astonished brown eyes regarded the bundle yet again as a man surfaced from between the rags, a man almost as familiar as the one kneeling on the road in his shirtsleeves. “Mr. Dudley! What happened?” came bursting out of him, full of concern for his Master’s oldest friend.  
The man in question didn’t look his best. Surrounded by rags and his torn suit, Dudley’s dark eyes stared out of a too-white face, horribly marred by a livid cut across his forehead. Bruises were already forming elsewhere, including a particularly nasty ring around his neck. The rest of his body was concealed, but given the grimace of pain he made on attempting to move, was likely to be in a similar state. 

Moray glanced at him. “Harry,” he said levelly, dark brown eyes brooking no argument, “go back to the carriage and open the door.” He spoke with the gently firm tone he used whenever any member of his staff was being particularly recalcitrant, and Harry was halfway back across the road before he realised what he was doing. Even before he had reached the carriage, Moray had turned back to his friend. “Oh, Dudley,” he murmured, his tone soft, caressing, and concerned. “What did they do to you?”  
Dudley blinked a few times, and Moray viciously squashed the stab of panic in his gut as his friend’s intelligent eyes momentarily glazed over. But then the moment passed, and Dudley’s dark eyes were calm and focused as they met his. “I’m not badly hurt, Moray,” he told his friend firmly. “You don’t need to look so worried.”  
Moray merely raised one eyebrow. “I would be much more convinced by that statement if you had been able to raise your voice above a whisper,” he said levelly, a deliberately bland tone disguising the churning anxiety in his stomach.  
Dudley opened his mouth in an attempt to speak again that was immediately negated by Moray’s movements, as, reaching out, he knocked the rags away with a grimace of disgust, hauled him to his feet, and wrapped the jacket around his shoulders. 

Dudley regarded him somewhat blearily. “Moray,” he started muzzily, barely able to enunciate the word, “I – I’m…” he trailed off as he partly collapsed, prevented from slamming into the cobbles only by Moray’s swift action.  
There was someone screaming in Moray’s head. _This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening._ Then he realised it was him. _This can’t be happening. No. Not Dudley. Not strong, dependable Dudley who’s always been there, always at my back, picking me up whenever I forget, whenever I lose my will. No. He will be fine. He has to be. I can’t do this without him._

Gripping Dudley tightly to his side, Moray negotiated the silent road carefully, all-but carrying the other man. On reaching the carriage, Harry assisted Moray in settling Dudley inside before hopping back up to his seat. Moray pulled the door of the carriage closed, and they rumbled into motion again.  
Moray reached out, resting a hand against Dudley’s forehead. The man stirred, a frown of confusion marring his calm expression, and then went under again. Dropping his hand to the seat, Moray leaned closer, closer still, and pressed a soft kiss to Dudley’s forehead. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, soft words lost in the sound of the wheels on the road, in the rising wind of the night. 

“I’ve got you now.”


End file.
